


Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by ariannenymerosmartell (somethingmoo)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Biting, F/M, Hate Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 02:52:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7149734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingmoo/pseuds/ariannenymerosmartell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barbrey is petty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once Bitten, Twice Shy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Marquise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marquise/gifts).



Petyr’s pet is looking for them. She hears her calling softly from the hallway. 

_Father? Father, are you there?_

It drives Barbrey mad. 

Petyr is no father. That the men of the Vale don’t see it…

Men are so astoundingly stupid. It is plain as day that the little thing is Catelyn Tully’s daughter. They share the same wide blue eyes, clear and clueless. The full lips, always posed in a pout to entice men. The high, full breasts put on shameless display. 

She even speaks the same way– everything soft and in measured tones. Useless Southron breeding. 

But Petyr seems to be in her thrall, favoring her with soft smiles. Brandon had done the same when thinking of the girl’s mother. It had made her blood boil then, as it does now. 

_But I have won. She is dead, and I am here._  


Here, being the Vale, pressed against the wall of Lord Baelish’s study, with her skirts rucked up around her waist, and Petyr’s clever fingers stroking over her clit and dipping into her core.   


“Don’t you dare,” she whispers sharply, when Petyr makes to withdraw his fingers. How he _runs_  to comfort the witless chit!  


“She may–”   


She silences him with a kiss that turns bloody, biting his bottom lip sharply. 

To his credit, he does not yelp, but pulls away, eyes narrowed in anger. 

“That will leave a mark,” he says, mildly, but his fingers keep working and that is all Barbrey cares about.   


“I may have to leave my own.”

He rips the bodice of her gown, and bites down sharply on her collar bones, her breasts, her nipples. He is determined to mark her, to punish her, to make her cry out. 

She is stronger than he is.

Though each bite stings, and one brings tears to her eyes, the joy of hearing Sansa Stark’s footsteps fade away from the door is exquisite. 


End file.
